


"The Baltimore Society For Amateur Crime Writers"

by DrGaybelGideon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrGaybelGideon/pseuds/DrGaybelGideon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddie and Frederick's habit of meeting to swap crime-scene gossip over cocktails could only go unquestioned for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The Baltimore Society For Amateur Crime Writers"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ciorane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciorane/gifts).



Most people, when approaching the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane would probably shiver at the thought of the innumerable horrors committed by the tortured souls within it. Freddie Lounds is decidedly more an opportunist than a romantic, and as much as she dislikes the comparisons to a vulture that have been aggressively hurled at her in the past, she can’t deny they’re fitting in times like these.  
Amongst the vast number of people who’ve growled complaints about her particular brand of journalism are Will Graham and Jack Crawford. It's an odd situation. She’s darkly amused by the fact two people who almost had her prosecuted- two people belonging to a list she doesn't have an hour and a half to scratch the surface of- are the reason she’s here to interview Abel Gideon, the Ripper-who-isn’t-the-Ripper, in an attempt to bring the real one out of hiding.  
  
Unless he really is the real one. Maybe he's insistent on telling everyone the truth. She's heard rumours that the Baltimore psychiatric circle has never been this divided.  
She’d feel sorry for the tormented patient in the centre of the maelstrom if the image of her name in the New York Times wasn’t flashing, black and white and vivid behind her eyes. Freddie Lounds, the first journalist to interview the Chesapeake Ripper.  
Whether he is or not won't really cause her royalties any concern.

“Hello. I’m here for an interview with Abel Gideon.” A small mousey woman looks up from her crossword and jumps. Freddie smiles firmly back. If the startled, mildly offended look is because of her outfit, she prides herself on not being the one in a poorly fitted white blouse-  
“Doctor Chilton? Miss Lounds is in the lobby. Sorry.” The secretary talks to her again, putting the phone down and looking genuinely apologetic as she smiles. She manages to offend her even further with her next remark. “We were expecting a man.”  
Well. That’s a new one.  
Not.  
  
“Not on my instructions.” A short man with an immaculately trimmed beard appears from the door behind his now startled secretary, seizing Freddie’s hand unbidden and dwarfing it with his own ringed one. “Miss Lounds.” He smiles into her face, all green eyes and pleasantly straight teeth, just shy of intimately close as he shakes her hand. She smirks at the image of Will Graham and his inability to maintain eye contact interacting with this. “Doctor Frederick Chilton. I’m pleased to announce you’re as appealing in real life as you are talented.”  
For a moment as she digests this last piece of conversation, she’s sure he’s talking about himself.  
Even after it sinks in that he’s talking to her, she’s still got a sneaking suspicion that her original hunch was right.  
"Would you like to step into my office?” No. No she wouldn’t. Not with that grin on his face. It seems to get more disconcerting every passing moment, especially as it reaches his eyes only through the sheer force of his facial muscles.  
“I’m on a tight schedule.”  
“We could make this quick.” The smile slips from his face, a steely nervous smirk replacing it.  
“Or we couldn’t. I have another interview in an hour.” The man holding her hand opens his mouth to plead in response to her lie. Freddie pauses. He must be strangely desperate if he’s considering begging for her to stay. Maybe there’s a little truth in Doctor Bloom’s psychic driving rumours after all.

Interesting.

Freddie Lounds has always been good at spotting an easy target. Frederick Chilton is a flaming dartboard in the dark, anxiety and nervousness almost as obvious in his face as the way his eyes glance at her cleavage. Apparently Gideon will have to be coaxed: Doctor Chilton seems more than happy to freely give his side of the story. She wonders how violently the two tales will differ, and which one of them's lying. It's more curiosity than the fact that she particularly cares. “I could probably fit you in tomorrow if a source falls through. Now, Doctor Gideon.”  
"I am guaranteed an interview?" He demands warily. She nods. It'll be amusing at least, especially if he's as awkward as he is now, stumbling slightly over the leg of his secretary’s desk as he leads her down the stairs towards the cells. "I really must say, I'm a very big fan of your work. And your company, which I'm surprised, given Will Graham's less than pleasant remarks about your good self, to find that I'm enjoying." Frederick tries to goad her into conversation as the first set of doors leading downstairs open. She ignores him- she's not here to be hit on- making eye contact with a few looming prisoners before they all seem to blur into the same jumpsuited figure as she walks. “ I'm very grateful to you for the opportunity to make my professional opinions heard. Abel Gideon is a pathological liar and five-times killer who is determined to end my career for something I didn't do. Oh!" He seems to remember something as as they turn a corner and pass another row. The man she's come to question must be right down in the BSCHI's bowels. "Protocols. No pens, no paper, if he asks you to pass something at the moment he’ll probably stick it in you, so don’t allow him that opportunity. I am free between twelve and two tomorrow if you’d like to come to my office.”

That last remark's lost as the entire row of male prisoners staring at her as she’s led past gets under her skin a little more than she’d anticipated. She’s not frightened, Freddie Lounds doesn’t get frightened. She just feels a little… objectified. Suddenly meeting a man who butchered the last woman he came into contact with, Ripper or not doesn’t seem like the best way to be spending her Tuesday.  
No. She’ll get through this, and she’ll be fine. Hell, they’re all behind bars.  
“I’ll leave you here. Gideon’s been a little… hostile towards me since certain allegations were made.” There’s disappointment, clear and obvious in the man’s tone. Oh. It's not about Gideon, there's anger there. He's unhappy that she ignored his last question.  
“There’s a new cocktail bar I haven’t called health and safety on yet." Freddie suggests in response to a low whistle from a cell behind her. She's not going to be comfortable here. "It’ll hopefully be a little less filled with maniacs, unless you book a table for happy hour.”  
“So… cocktails tomorrow?” Frederick stares at her, startled.  
It sounds like a date invitation, she realises with an internal groan. That’s the reason for the small excited gleam he can’t quite hide in his face.

Well.  
Freddie’s worked worse angles, she supposes, and a ‘he said/he said’ article war would definitely bring in more hits-  
“You’re paying.” She replies with her sweetest smile as the sound of a klaxon sounds her entrance to the last row of cells.


End file.
